Violet Nights 11: Early Days, Those New Green Shoots
by Funky In Fishnet
Summary: Bungo Baggins has always been a lucky man. Others don't always see it that way, but what do they know?


_**Disclaimer: **I own nothing._

_**Author Notes: **Part eleven in the 'Violet Nights' series. Enjoy._

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**EARLY DAYS, THOSE NEW GREEN SHOOTS**

Bungo Baggins had always been lucky. True, he was quite short in stature, but Baggins men rarely stood at great heights so Bungo never thought of his size negatively. He was exactly the right height for a Baggins.

He was lucky in that he discovered his great love at a young age, when his father, Mungo, pulled up a carrot and wiped the dirt away, revealing the bright orange underneath. The taste made Bungo's eyes widen. And there were potatoes and radishes and lots of different herbs. To Bungo, it was delicious magic.

So it was only natural that upon leaving school, he became part of the family business. Vegetables had been the Baggins' business for years, consisting of a generous greengrocers in town and a garden nursery, Bag End, beyond it. Bungo and his brother Bingo both helped out in the greengrocers once they were able to use the scales, but whilst Bungo enjoyed getting to know the customers and their habits and helping them find exactly what they needed, he was more interested in Bag End. He got to spend all day up to his elbows in damp soil, surrounded by seeds and flowering herbs and the mouth-watering freshness of vegetables. It was all he wanted from life, along with his mother's meat pies and a sip from his father's pint glass. Bungo was a man of simple earthy tastes. He'd found exactly what made him happiest in life and he wasn't even sixteen. He was lucky.

Then, two years later, he got even luckier - Belladonna Took walked into Bag End. She wore a deep turquoise wrap that matched her shoes and her dark blonde hair seemed to sparkle in the bright sun. But what really caught Bungo's attention was the intent way that she tested the heft and ripeness of the vegetables. She wasn't afraid to get her hands or clothes dirty. She was more captivating than any of the season's abundant crops. Bungo blinked and belatedly remembered to step forward and ask if she needed assistance.

Her gaze flickered over him once, decisively, and her amused smile grew, making Bungo's ears warm. "How much assistance do you think I need?"

There was more than a lick of challenge in Belladonna's voice and it made Bungo laugh, surprise and anticipation unfolding inside of him. It was rare that anyone caught his attention, his brother Bingo was more than happy to indulge the many bright-eyed customers who spent lingering moments around the grocery till, but Bungo had always been more interested in what was growing under the earth. He had friends enough thanks to the staff at Bag End and the frequent trips he made to the pub, for games of darts and shove ha'penny and Nine Men's Morris, all washed down with a nice lemonade, with a little something extra in it if Derek was behind the bar. He'd never felt a calling for anything else, but this, this felt like summer lightning or the hazy warmth of a bumble bee's flight and he found that he wanted more.

"You know what you're doing, I can see that. That's why I offered, I thought maybe you were looking for something special? For some occasion?"

Belladonna tilted her head slightly and her smile turned soft and sharp in equal measures. "What kind of occasion would that be?"

Bungo took a good look at her, with a purely business brain engaged, though he couldn't help noticing her creamy skin and shapely ankles too. Her hands weren't those of someone who spent a great deal of time working the earth or labouring, but she didn't have the airs of someone distant and fussy, either. Her clothing was clearly quite expensive, but she didn't mind getting it dirty. He hummed not-quite-under his breath.

"A dinner, maybe a family occasion, or business, or both. You want to impress someone."

Belladonna gave him another once-over, one that lingered unashamedly and made his ears warm up again. Then she began detailing the important upcoming meal that she was organising. Bungo nodded and listened, because she was making a lot of sense and he could see what she was going for and she was fascinating. After she'd finished and he'd helped her find some lovely fresh produce and had arranged for it to be delivered to a very nice address, she pressed a slip of paper into his hand.

"You must taste the fruits of our labours."

It wasn't quite a command or a question, but Bungo nodded with a smile of his own and warm ears. He watched Belladonna leave, that bumble-bee-flight feeling buzzing around him contentedly. She was something special, like fresh warm honey or the crunch of the first carrot of the season.

The vegetables were delicious when he got to taste her preparations of them, he never thought that he'd taste a stew as good as his aunt's but Belladonna's beat it soundly. She gave him a crockpot full to take home and a kiss on the cheek. Bungo felt very lucky indeed.

His father approved of the match, and his mother smiled silently. The Tooks were a fine family, steeped in good reputation and finance. Belladonna's father, Gerontius Took, had been the city's mayor at one point and was now a well-respected business man and the proud father of twelve extremely bright children. Bungo liked visiting the Took household; there was always plenty of good food and interesting conversation. Many an evening was spent in the beautiful back-garden, pipe smoke filling the air and Bungo's attention always drawn to Belladonna who smiled whenever she looked at him.

"She'll keep your hands full," Gerontius told him, apros of nothing. "Your life too, there's a lot of her mother in her. You are a singularly lucky man."

It was a blessing, Bungo realised, his ears warming and his heart thumping fast against his ribs. A blessing he'd gladly take. Wasn't he lucky?

The night of their wedding, Belladonna wore green silk and Bungo wore a smile that he hadn't lost since.

He stayed close to his father. They worked side by side at Bag End, Bingo had already proven to have a knack at the greengrocers and for all his flirting, he was already talking of marrying Chica Chubb. She'd get on well with Belladonna; most likely together they'd overtake any who stood in their path. Bingo said that sounded like the best way for life to be and clinked his pint glass against Bungo's. They were a lucky set, the pair of them.

Their mother…she'd always been so quiet; to be honest it was almost like she wasn't quite there at all. She cooked and baked beautifully, she wore shades of purple and pink and a little tulip brooch that she never took off. Her eyes were loving and her hands were soft and…one day, she slipped away in her hospital bed, not long after Bungo and Belladonna's wedding. Bungo didn't like to think of that time, awash with a sadness that didn't suit his mother or anyone else. He kept hold of a clutch of memories – her happy face at the wedding, the steam coming off her meat pies, the peace she'd always glowed with. He didn't like to talk about her.

It was a shame and a half that Bilbo never really got to know either of his Baggins grandparents. Mungo died quite suddenly when Bilbo was entering his sapling teenage years, his hair getting a particularly pronounced Baggins curl and his wits sharpening to become quite Tookish. Mungo had enjoyed spending time with his grandson, though there'd been something worried, almost disappointed, in his gaze as he'd watched Bilbo bake beside Belladonna, something that had spoken of a silent trouble that he was mulling over. Bungo knew that look well.

Bilbo wasn't likely to be sinking his hands into the family soil at Bag End, not past his teenage years at any rate. Bungo didn't see the spark in his son that he saw in Bingo when his brother held court at the greengrocers or that feeling that Bungo himself got when shaking dirt off potatoes or measuring the height of sunflowers. Bilbo wasn't meant for the family business, as much as that pained his grandfather. It didn't worry Bungo, he knew that Bilbo would find his own magic soon enough.

Several days later, Bungo took note of how Bilbo became silent and wide-eyed whenever he talked to Peter, one of the young lads helping out at Bag End. Belladonna raised her eyebrows when Bungo mentioned it, matter-of-fact, over a post-work cup of tea.

"Of course, it's been as plain as the curl in your hair for weeks."

Belladonna often knew what people kept tucked away from the rest of the world. She had a forthright nature and rarely took 'no' for an answer. People often said to Bungo that it must be a wearying trial for him, being married to Belladonna Took, who dug under people's words without invitation, seeming to want to run everybody else's life. But Bungo always replied that he was lucky. Those people never got to see Belladonna's soft smile when she watched their son bake, or how rooted in worry and care her sharp words were, or how she'd shed tears when Bungo's father had died.

And when Bilbo, a sweet-natured teen with more than a hint of Tookish stubbornness, told his parents that it was unlikely that they would be gaining grandchildren, at least not in the traditional way, Belladonna told him that the traditional way was hardly the only one available. She already had ideas; she had discussed them extensively with Bungo. Bungo himself placed a hand on his son's shoulder and said simply.

"I remember Peter, lad. I'm glad you told us."

Bilbo looked a little scandalised at the mention of Peter, and at the idea that his father had noticed his fumbling flustered reaction to the boy, but he looked pleased and relieved too and really, Bungo had met Falco and Brinar, Bilbo's friends from Sixth Form College. Their words and manner, though never outright and obvious in front of their friends' family, had been hint enough. Still, Bilbo had told his parents. Bungo was a lucky man, more than that, he was privileged.

"He's a good lad," he commented to Belladonna, as they sat by the fireplace, a cheerful blaze throwing strange shapes across the room and across their own pale faces.

Belladonna smiled, soft and happy, her fingers busy with some complicated silvery crocheting. She didn't say anything; the world got her words, sharp and pointed. Honesty was her calling card and she _blew_ through life, a tornado of opinions. But she gave Bungo her silences. He treasured every single one.

_-the end_


End file.
